


Don't You Ever Forget About Me

by logicaltribbles



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Closure, I'm just tagging all potential triggers, I'm trying so hard not to spoil, Kidnapping, Mental Instability, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Drugs, Save Arcadia Bay Ending, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, also idk why I'm writing this, but not until later bc max needs time to mend, but really if you played the game you should know what triggers there are, grahamfield - Freeform, why can't i write fluff and happy shit, wow lotta tags ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logicaltribbles/pseuds/logicaltribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max Caulfield never asked for any of this, but now she has to live with herself. And that's the most difficult thing she'll ever have to do. (A series of drabbles in which Max finds closure, and helps others find it, too)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Polarized

**Author's Note:**

> I tried really hard not to spoil anything in the summary or tags but here's the point of no return. This story is based on the sacrifice Chloe ending, so heads up.

Max doesn't move for a long time. She just sits, curled up on a dirty bathroom floor with silent tears streaming down her face, listening to Nathan Prescott as he tries to undo what can not be undone.  
Someone must have heard the gunshot, because after what feels like an eternity, David storms into the bathroom, yelling for Nathan to get on the ground. He does of course, and he’s begging for mercy like the coward he is. _I didn’t mean to! It was an accident! It was self-defense! **Bullshit.**_ She hears handcuffs, some rustling, and Nathan is led out of the bathroom, crying like a child.  
Then it’s just her, and Chloe, and the crushing self-hatred she’ll have to live with forever.

 

* * *

 

The cops arrive to investigate the scene. They find Max, head in her arms and knees to her chest, in that damn corner next to the fire alarm she didn’t pull. One of them reaches out to her, and she simply falls apart, arms limp and no motivation to move at all. They manage to stand her up and walk her out of the bathroom. She passes Chloe. Passes the body. Her legs give out. She’s carried the rest of the way.  
They bring her to an ambulance that’s waiting outside, wrap a blanket around her, and tell her that she’s in shock. They’re not wrong.

 

* * *

 

After a brief check up at the hospital, she’s driven to the police station. They ask her questions. What did you see? What did you hear? She manages a couple words, enough for them to jot down a brief statement. They ask her why she didn’t leave the bathroom after Nathan was led away, she says it’s because she was scared. She doesn’t tell them the truth. She doesn’t tell them that Chloe didn’t deserve to be left alone again.

 

* * *

 

When they release her, Max makes her way to the lighthouse. _You can’t escape the lighthouse, here…_ It’s a long walk, and her legs are burning, but she doesn’t care. The sun is setting on Arcadia Bay, and the ocean twinkles in the orange light. It would be beautiful if the world wasn’t so fucked up. Max sits on the bench, overlooking the town she saved. The town she sacrificed the best damn thing in her life for. _You were there today, Max. You saved me!_ The dam breaks and heaving sobs wrack her chest. _Yes, I was there…_

 

* * *

  

The only time Max leaves her room for a week is to see Mark Jefferson led from Blackwell with a police escort. She stands next to Kate, arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively, glaring daggers at the man she once trusted. A sense of satisfaction settles in her chest when they lock eyes, and she knows that he knows. He knows that Maxine Caulfield was the one who ended his life. It’s the best thing she’s done in this reality.  
She wants to spit at him, and she almost does, but Kate lets out a whimper, and Max focuses her attention back on the girl in her arms. Kate is more important than the waste of oxygen that is Jefferson, and she wants him to know that she will no longer give him the time of day.  
No one will.

 

* * *

 

The days leading up to the funeral are a blur. Before she knows it, she's at the lighthouse again, gazing down at Arcadia Bay to remind herself that this is right. She made the right choice. The only thing that reminds her of that is Chloe. _We have to. We have to save everybody, okay?_ Max turns and heads for the graveyard.  
She’s the last one there, and takes her place between Warren and Joyce. She wants so badly to comfort the woman who has become her second mother, but she has no right. She can’t even look at her.  
Max can’t hear the priest. She can’t hear anything but her heart pounding in her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots it. A blue butterfly. It lands right on the coffin, right where Chloe’s pale face is hidden under polished wood. And she feels something move in her soul. A calm that is so out of place in this strange and tragic week. A calm she only felt when she was holding her best friend. It’s barely there, but a smile tugs at her lips. Chloe is here. Chloe understands. It’s not much, but it’s enough for now. And she whispers,  
“I’ll always love you, too.”


	2. Finalized

After the funeral, the sense of calm that had settled over Max fades. It’s back to numbness with the steady pang of regret. Her parents text her, and when she does not respond they call her. She answers in a monotone, saying as little as possible. They suggest that she come home.  
She refuses.  
 There are things in Arcadia Bay that she still needs to do, and if she leaves she’s not sure she would be able to come back.  
Max only goes between classes and her dorm. Occasionally Warren or Kate will come by her room, and they will sit in silence for a while. They don’t know what to say, and she can’t find the energy to start a conversation. But their presence is slightly comforting.  
They remind her of what she saved. 

 

* * *

 

She’s been waking in cold sweats. Every time she sleeps she re-lives that final nightmare, only now Chloe is not there when she wakes up. The lack of sleep makes her feel drowsy, and the drowsiness reminds her of a drug-induced stupor. She feels the needle in her neck with every cold sting of wind. Every flash of light is her image being captured in Jefferson’s sick aesthetic.  
She stops taking photographs. 

 

* * *

 

It’s been nearly two weeks now, and Max stands outside the Two Whales diner. She plays nervously with the scarf around her neck. They used to make her feel stuffy, but now she feels exposed without one.  
It takes her a good half an hour to finally enter. She almost walks away a grand total of four times, but if she ever intends to move on, this is something she needs to do. The same country guitar rattles from the jukebox. It’s incredibly nostalgic, but she’s not sure she likes the feeling anymore. She stands at the entryway until a patron accidentally nudges her on the way out, and she’s knocked out of her trance and takes a few tentative steps forward.  
The news drones in the background. No mention of snowfalls or eclipses or giant tornadoes. She has to remind herself to walk, and step by step she makes her way to the second to last booth on the right. Max plops herself down on the faded seat. She’s at a loss. She didn’t think she would get this far. After a few minutes a waitress who is not Joyce makes her way over with a cup of coffee. Max manages to mumble a question as to where Joyce is, and the waitress tells her that Joyce is still on leave.  
She’s still mourning the loss of her only child.  
Max lets her coffee go cold as she stares at the seat across from her. She thinks about panda key chains and parking tickets and cigarettes and spare change.  
“It’s a shame about Joyce’s girl.” She hears a police officer tell her partner.  
“I’ll say. Poor woman has been through enough.”  
“Can hardly say I’m surprised though. Girl was in too deep. It was only a matter of time.”  
Max leaves. It’s all she can do not to scream.

 

* * *

 

Kate comes by her dorm later that night. There seems to be an unspoken agreement between her and Warren, one of them drops by to check on Max every night. If Max didn’t feel so unworthy, she would be touched.  
She brings Bunny Marsh this time, and Max can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips.  
“Don’t hide, Max.” Kate says while Max is snuggling the bunny. “Please. You’re always helping others. Let others help you.” Max feels tears prickle at her eyes. _Even angels need angels, Max._  
Her hand finds Kate’s and she squeezes. Kate squeezes back.  
Her heart lifts a little.

 

* * *

 

Max stands outside the Price home. She makes sure not to look at the old pick up truck that Chloe swept her away in. But there is no way to ignore the blue paint that only makes it halfway to the roof. _Don't forget to tell them that you killed me._ Her heart crawls into her throat. She’s shaking, but she rings the doorbell before she can think better of it. _I need to do this. I can do this._  
_No, no I can’t._ She’s turning to go when the door creaks open.  
“Max?” Joyce gasps and Max flinches, all hope of escape is lost. “Oh, Max!” Suddenly Joyce is on the porch with her arms wrapped tightly around her.  
They stay like that for a long time, just clinging to each other. Max briefly wonders if it’s because they are the closest thing to Chloe that the other has.  
When they finally separate, Joyce leads Max inside to the dinner table and sits down across from her. Max’s eye catches the wine stain on the carpet, and her heart drops to her stomach.  
“Max, you have no idea how good it is to see you.” Joyce takes her hands form across the table. “I wasn’t sure I would see you again after… after the funeral…” Her voice is thick with emotion, and Max interrupts because she can not stand to see Joyce cry again.  
“Of course Joyce. You’re my family, too. Whatever you and David need, I’m here for you.” She squeezes lightly.  
It’s the least she can say after killing their daughter.

 

* * *

 

After an hour of polite conversation with intermissions of silence, Max makes her way upstairs. She walks straight past Chloe’s room, not even sparing it a glance. She wants to stall as long as possible. Her converse tap lightly on the tile floor of the bathroom. She turns on the faucet to drown out the sound of her heartbeat and splashes her face to calm her nerves. _You are okay. This was the right choice. This_ was _the right choice._  
Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she practices the deep breathing exercises that Warren taught her during on of her panic attacks. _In, one two three four, out, one two three four…_  
She lifts her head and a shock of blue catches her eye. Sitting in plain sight on the counter is electric blue hair dye. A whimper escapes her throat.  
Breathing doesn't help anymore, because she doesn’t deserve to.

 

* * *

 

She stands outside the door now, eyes tracing the warning signs that stick to the same door that used to hang childish illustrations and word art. She almost knocks, but thinks better of it. Of course no one would answer. There is nothing to quiet the sound of the blood rushing through her veins as she touches the doorknob with caution, as if there was a fire raging on the other side. The doorknob gently turns and Max forces herself inside before she can talk herself out of it. Closing the door behind her, now it’s only her and the past and the memories of another reality, another reality when Chloe is dancing on the bed, with smoke caressing her body, her face.  
Her legs are jelly, but she manages to stagger over to the drawer where Chloe’s very first cellphone lies in the top drawer, resting on top of all of their illustrated adventures that only the innocence of children could imagine. The pressure is building in her chest, it’s pounding on her ribs, telling Max that she _fucked_ up. Chloe should be here. Chloe deserves to be here. The writing on Chloe’s walls scream at her, reminding her that Chloe was lonely. Chloe was abandoned.  
There’s a shoebox on the desk. It’s been shuffled through recently, by Joyce or Chloe, she doesn't know. But whats inside make Max want to die.  
William’s camera sits on top. Max picks it up gingerly, as if it were glass. This was a gift to her, from Chloe. It was. That was the other reality, but Max isn’t sure whats real and whats not anymore.  
Old pictures lie underneath, and as she studies one in particular, her heart fully and completely shatters. It’s the two of them, Max and Chloe, and on the reverse side is scribbled and frenzied handwriting. “ _Everyone leaves._ ” There’s a slight discoloration on the corner, possibly a tear, probably a tear, because as tough as Chloe was her heart was fragile and broken and had shed more sorrow than she would ever admit. And the realization that Max has been avoiding all along hits her full in the gut. _This is the best farewell gift I could have asked for._ Their memories in that final week. They never happened.  
Sure, Max knows, but Chloe didn’t. Chloe Price, her best friend, the one who set her soul at ease, her _other half_ , died on a cold bathroom floor thinking that everyone she had ever loved abandoned her. This Chloe, the final, definite Chloe, didn’t know about Rachel, or Frank, or David or _Max_. All she knew was loneliness.  
That’s the final straw. Arcadia Bay be _damned_ , Chloe deserves better. Max fights back the tears. She can fix this. The photo right in front of her, she can go back. She can tell Chloe everything. Maybe she wouldn't believe her at first, but over time she would come to realize that Max was there with her. For everything. Maybe she could avoid the Nathan situation all together, and if not, if she dies again (the thought nearly makes Max physically ill), Chloe would know she was not alone.  
Max stares at the photo with unwavering will. It comes into focus, two young faces staring back at her. And Max pictures herself in that photograph. Sends herself, her whole being into that photograph.  
Nothing happens.  
She tries again, breathing harder and labored. She focuses on every finite detail of the photo until her eyes are aching and her head is spinning, but she remains in an empty room full of altered memories and broken promises.  
Max is in full on panic now. “No, no, please please please…” She knocks over a frame in desperation, glass shattering as it hits the ground, and reaches out her hand, willing for time to reverse and the frame to fix itself.  
Nothing happens.  
She tries again, and again, and again, straining everything she is to make time go back, go back and fix the frame, and see Chloe, and hold Chloe again because it’s not fucking fair.  
Her powers are gone. And so is a part of Max that will never, never be recovered.  
Her knees give out and her hands slam to the ground in frustration.  
“ ** _Fuck!_** ” She hardly recognizes her voice, it’s broken just like her.  
For a moment, all she knows is the world crashing down around her, and why why why would she have this power only to fuck things up, fix it, and make it as though nothing happened? Nothing has changed? What’s the point of a second chance if the only person that mattered will never know?  
She must have been crying, rather loudly too, because she feels arms around her and hears Joyce’s soft voice in her ear, one hand stroking through her hair in an attempt to calm her. It doesn’t, but Max throws herself into Joyce’s arms, mumbling apologies into her shoulder. There’s red on Joyce’s shirt, and Max vaguely registers a stinging in her hand. She must have slammed her palm on a shard of glass, but she doesn't care. She deserves worse. She tries to focus on that pain, on the sting of the glass in her skin but it’s not enough. The pain of losing Chloe is far more real than any physical wound.  
And this time there is no bringing her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys asked for a longer chapter. Regret it yet?  
> Don't worry though there is more to come and it's not as heartbreaking I promise, this was Max's lowest of the low. Recovering will still be a struggle but this was THE bottom. It was only necessary for Max to truly move on. God bless my friend Chris for reading this for me (she chose to save the bae) I know it hurt but I owe you <3


	3. Agonized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! This chapter includes a very descriptive anxiety attack and references self-harm. If you want to skip that particular scene, I put it in between ***

It takes a trip to the ER and eight stitches to patch up the gash in Max’s palm. Joyce stays with her the entire time, and insists on driving her back to Blackwell once she's given the okay to leave. Max doesn’t know what to do other than apologize profusely. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Joyce more trouble and she had gone and done just that. Joyce cuts off her apologies when they are halfway to school.  
“Max, honey. It’s fine. I told you it’s fine.”  
“But Joyce…”  
“Now I don’t wanna hear any more about it. As far as I’m concerned Max, you’re a second daughter to me. It’s my job to make sure you are alright.” Her voice catches, and Max presses against her stitches to distract herself from the fact that she is only making things worse. “And no, you are not making things worse.” Joyce says, and Max briefly wonders if all mothers can read minds. The old pick-up is quiet for a moment, and Max gazes out the passenger window. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend Chloe is driving the truck, the ‘Maxmobile’ Chloe had joked once. The illusion is shattered when Joyce speaks again.  
“You are allowed to grieve too, Max.” Max disagrees, but she keeps that to herself. She could never tell Joyce just why she does not deserve this, why she does not deserve anything. Blackwell Academy comes into view, and Max finds herself wishing the car ride was longer. She’s not looking forward to explaining her injury to Kate or Warren. The pick-up comes to a stop outside the main gate, the familiar rumble of the engine becoming white noise as Max finds the strength to unbuckle her seatbelt and open the door. As she sets the first foot down, Joyce speaks again. She almost misses it, it’s so soft. The woman clears her throat and tries again.  
“Max. Would you like to come over for dinner next Friday?” Her gentle eyes stay focused on the road, and that’s just fine because Max is not sure she could make eye contact if she tried.  
“Joyce…”  
“Please, Max. If not for you, then for me. It’ll give me something to do.” It’s more of an order really, and Max never could deny Joyce.  
“All right.” She forces a smile. “Next Friday.” 

* * *

 Her powers are gone. That’s all Max can think about for the next three days. This fact is more difficult to accept than it was to learn she had powers in the first place. It leaves her in a daze, more secluded than before. Her last link to Chloe and the time they spent together is gone, and Max is left with nothing but more questions and no answers. Kate worries silently, Warren worries loudly, Max can’t find it in herself to care. She’s taken to aggravating the cut on her hand as a nervous habit. The sting and pull of the stitches distract her from whatever emotion (or lack thereof) she is drowning in.  
She’s alone in her room in the middle of the night with her distraction when her palms feel warm and slick, and in the darkness she can only vaguely make out the shapes of her hands. Curiosity wins over and she flicks on the side table light, only to be greeted with red. She’s managed to pull out her stitches and open the wound. Honestly, she couldn’t care less, but she knows Kate and Warren will notice the stains and ask about it. So she patters off to the bathroom to clean herself up.

* * *

 Warren stops by that morning, eyes bright as ever. He always tries his best to be positive and goofy for her sake. It must be exhausting, but he doesn't show it.  
Max made sure that the bandage was back on her palm so that he would not notice the open wound. But Warren is a scientist, and it’s in his nature to be observant, especially when it comes to Max. So when he spots the crimson smudge on the lamp, and the slight red spot on the bandage, it doesn’t take him long to figure things out.  
“Max,” He says, all traces of cheerfulness gone from his face, “Let me see your hand.”  
She can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “Warren… I’m-“  
He doesn't wait to grab her wrist, his grip surprisingly gentle for the urgency in his demeanor. He turns her palm towards him and lifts the bandage, and all Max can do is look away. Warren stares for a moment, his breathing the only sound disrupting the silence.  
“You pulled out your stitches.” He states, as if she didn’t already know. Max’s eyes trace the words on her rug. “Max, look at me.” She can’t. “ _Max_.”  
The tone of his voice surprises her. All the time she's known him his voice has been soft and light. But now he is raising his voice to her, and in that moment she needs to look at him. Their eyes meet, and Max feels that damn lump in her throat again. She wants to press against her cut, think about something other than the shitty feeling settling in her chest, but Warren squeezes her wrists lightly when she tries to move.  
“Max, please don’t start down this road.” His voice is thick, with worry and sorrow and understanding, “Just… just don’t… Max you can talk to me, I’ll do anything. Just don’t… don’t hurt yourself.” His breathing is shaky, and Max needs him to stop this because it felt so nice to be numb and he’s _ruining_ it.  
“It was an accident.” She lies. Anything to get him to stop looking at her like that.  
“Bullshit.” His response is immediate. “You think I haven’t noticed you poking and nudging at that bandage? I’m your friend, Max, it’s my job to notice.” She drops her gaze again. She wants to rewind and fix things, hide the truth like she has become so good at doing, but she has no power. So she has to face the consequences of her actions, just like everybody else.  
Only she doesn’t know how, so she pulls away.  
“I’m fine, Warren.”  
“Max please-“  
“I said I’m fine!” Her voice is louder than she intended. Her eyes are glued to the floor. The room is still, until he reaches out for her and she turns away. Her chest feels as though it will explode, and her entire body is tense as she tries not to cry. She can feel his eyes on her, and she hates it. She hates that she has to feel the heartbreak she’s causing, for Warren, and Joyce, and Chloe. She has to feel everything and she _can’t_ fix it.  
“When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me.”  
The tears begin to fall as soon as the door shuts behind her.

* * *

 ***

Hours later, Max sits on her bed, curled around her self in the same way she was in the bathroom, when she let Chloe die. She rocks back and forth, emotions washing over her with paralyzing intensity, The bracelets on her wrist feel tight, suffocating, like they are binding her to a chair, to a prison. She rips them off, throwing them as far as she can manage. Her head is pounding, and she could swear that the edges of her vision darkens, and images of the junkyard flash across her mind. Her chest tightens, and she wraps her scarf tighter around her throat, but she’s still so exposed. She’s trapped in her own body and she can’t get out, she can’t get out, she _can’t get out_! A pathetic whine leaves her throat as she rearranges herself on the bed, moving simply to remind herself that she is not trapped. She catches sight of her picture collage, of one photo in particular, of herself standing in front of that very wall. She wants to escape into one of those photos, she wants to be anywhere but here right now, but even when she focuses again and again nothing happens. She’s panting now, she can’t seem to get enough oxygen. She needs to do something, _anything_ to get rid of this awful feeling, to focus her racing mind on just one thing. Her fingers grip at the line of photos, and she pulls with all her might, ripping them from the wall. She does this again, and again, and again, until photographs litter her bed and her floor and she's leaning against the wall as she hyperventilates, and she’s _alone_ , Chloe is not here with her, and she feels like she's back it that fucking dark room just waiting for Jefferson to return and violate her like her had before. She can’t remember him ever touching her, but the words he spoke echo in her mind and rip into her as easily as a physical act. Her hands clutch over her ears as she curls up again, desperate to shut out his voice, and Chloe’s, which joins in with pleas for another chance and accusations betrayal.  
It’s in this moment that Max realizes how dependent she has become on distracting herself, and it hits her like a punch in the gut. She’s scared, oh _God_ is she scared of going down a road she can’t rewind. She’s scared of what she has done, what she could do, what she was _willing_  to do. She can not stand to be alone with her ghosts any longer.

***

* * *

 She gropes for her cellphone on the side table, and with shaking fingers she manages to type out a simple message to the one person she knows will always answer.  
_I’m not fine._  
She chokes out a sob as she presses send, and lets the phone drop into the mess of her blankets. Her ragged breaths drown out the sound of vibrating a moment later, and it’s not until she hears a rapid knock at the door five minutes later that she’s pulled back.  
Warren waits on the other side of the door, looking as if he’s having a panic attack himself. He doesn't even take in Max’s swollen eyes or blotched cheeks, or bother to listen to whatever greeting she can choke out before he envelopes her in a near bone crushing hug. He whispers to her, reassuring her of his presence as she stutters out some incoherent words.  
“I can’t… I don’t know what to… I’m s-scared Warren I don’t know what to- to do…” He shushes her and holds her tighter.  
“Oh my goodness!” A soft voice comes from across the hall, and Max peeks over Warren’s shoulder to see Kate tiptoe out of her dorm. “I thought I heard crying, Max sweetie what’s wrong?” She holds out her arms, and Warren loosens his grip so that Max can reach out and pull Kate into the hug as well.  
Max buries her nose in Kate’s neck, breathing in her lavender scent, and keeps one arm securely wrapped around Warren’s waist. Her mind is still scrambled and no matter how she tries a full sentence can not form in her mind, but Max does register that she has some of the best friends in the world and that she truly does not deserve them.  
A few minutes pass, and Warren suggests they move from the doorway. Kate wraps her arm around Max’s shoulder and leads her to the bed as Warren shuts the door and joins them a moment later. The three of them sit, leaning against the wall as Max curls in on herself in the same fashion she had earlier. Kate drapes a blanket around her before leaning back onto her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss into Max’s hair. Warren scoots closer so his arm is flush against hers, and takes one of her hands in his and begins rubbing small circles on the back with his thumb.  
Kate prays for Max softy, whispering just loud enough for her to hear, and while Max doesn’t even know if praying really works the soothing sound of Kate’s voice helps to steady her breathing, and the rhythmic motion of Warren’s thumb on her hand slows her mind a bit at a time. After a while, their combined warmth sends Max into the only sound sleep she has had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was supposed to be longer but the other half still isn't written because school is hurting me. The fluffier half will come at the end of the semester, but for now enjoy a shit-ton of angst! Consider the upcoming fluff my holiday gift to you~  
> EDIT 3/22: YES i am still working on this story. I got thrown off track for a while because of schoolwork, so i kind of lost my direction. Because of this I'm taking time to replay the game so I can get my sense of the characters back before I continue, because i want to include everyone at one point or another and I want to make sure they remain as close to canon as possible. Thank you so much for your patience <3

**Author's Note:**

> I obviously don't love myself so I wrote this because i need closure too. idk how long this will be but i felt like it would be too long for a single chapter so i'm splitting it up. this chapter is short and kinda choppy because I doubt Max was processing much right after. so yeah i hope its not awful


End file.
